


Blizzard

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8730862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok





	

A flash of lightning shines, blinding John as he unlocks the door. He comes inside and shakes ice off his coat when thunder strikes, loud and close enough that John almost jumps.

Inside is very dark, even once John's blinked the purple after-image of lightning away. The power must have gone out. The chill he feels when he takes off his gloves seems to indicate the same.

He got here just in time, then. Good.

He hears Harold walk into the room, a soft shuffle of fabric. "Mr. Reese?"

John's eyes are accustomed enough to the dark that he can just barely make out the silhouette of Harold in slippers and a bathrobe. Despite himself, he grins. "Harold," he drawls. Then urgency wins over delight, and he says, "Do you have an alternate heat source in here?"

"I'm afraid not," Harold says glumly.

"We could always burn the books," John says. 

It's kind of a waste, since it's too dark to see Harold's appalled expression. "I'm sure the situation is nowhere near that dire," Harold says. "There's plenty of warm blankets, and the insulation is excellent. In fact, while your presence is always appreciated, there's no need for you to be here--"

Another flash of lightning turns the room stark white, illuminating the window as a golf ball sized hailstone crashes into it. It lasts just long enough for John to catch Harold's distraught expression. Then it's gone, and in its place is thunder loud enough to shake the windows.

"Well, nevermind," Harold says, slightly shaky. "You're certainly not going out again in _that_. I hope you brought something comfortable to sleep in, Mr. Reese."

"I normally sleep naked," John says, his voice as blank as he can make it. "You don't mind, Harold, do you?"

Harold's joints creak a little when he moves. "I'm sure I can find you something," Harold mutters darkly. "A chastity belt, perhaps."

"Kinky," John says, genuinely appreciative: Harold doesn't normally hand him openings like that.

They step into the bedroom Harold used. "You could take one of the couches," Harold says, but even he must recognize it's a lost battle. 

The bedroom is lit with an emergency neon lantern, and by its light John can see Harold's substantial nest of pillows. It covers the half of the bed closer to the wall. John approves: he likes sleeping near the door, having himself between his bedmate and any potential assailants walking in. 

Now he can see Harold, too. Harold sheds the bathrobe, revealing striped pajamas. John bites the inside of his cheek. Harold awkwardly gets inside the pillow nest with practiced movements, finally pulling the blanket on top of him and saying, "Well?"

John quickly strips down to a t-shirt and boxer shorts, then scurries under the blanket. "The sheets are cold," he tells Harold, plaintive and smiling.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Harold says, but to John's pleased surprise Harold also drapes an arm over John's chest. His nose is icy against the back of John's neck. John closes his eyes and keeps his breathing even.

"I hope you brought some dry clothes," Harold says, but it's distant, muffled. 

John has read somewhere that the best way to sleep is under warm blankets in a cold room. Harold's arm is warm, too, and even his nose isn't so chilly anymore. Tension washes out of John's form, and he finds himself pliant, feeling dreamy even before he's quite asleep.

He has to be dreaming, because the alternative is that Harold softly said, "Sleep well, my dear," and that's not very likely at all.


End file.
